


archiban frodrick's kennel

by hydrospanners



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, F/M, Fluff, Light Sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrospanners/pseuds/hydrospanners
Summary: He was a vet, she had a ginx, could I make it any more obvious? Or the one where Doc is a vet and Rea has a late night pet emergency and things go the way they always do no matter what universe they're in.





	archiban frodrick's kennel

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my beloved dog, Winter Storm Diego, and meonlyred for inspiring this.

He’s refilling his caf when he notices the snow. A rush of white flakes, tinkling like bells as they slant against the lobby window. It lays in drifts nearly half a meter deep already and building fast.

 

Looks like it’ll be another night spent at the office.

 

Doc wraps his fingers around the warm mug and tries to talk himself into shoveling a path out to the pens in the back. They’re heated and usually unsupervised at this hour anyway, but since he’s already here--

 

A flood of blinding white light pours through the front window. Gilded plaques and framed holos rattle on their hooks as the walls around him start to tremble, a sound like thunder rumbling overhead. He raises his arm against the light, trying to squint past it to the source. He can’t see anything but the snow, blowing against the window in impenetrable sheets of white.

 

This might be one of the tamer places he’s settled, but Doc hasn’t made it this far in life by being stupid. He drops to hands and knees and crawls behind the receptionist’s desk, pressing his palm to the safe hidden below. The blaster inside is a cold, familiar weight in his hand.

 

Someone pounds at the front door and he clicks off the safety, letting his finger rest on the guard as he peeks over the desk. The snow outside has settled, and he can see the outline of a ship idling in the parking lot. An honest-to-stars cargo freighter. In the parking lot. 

 

Squinting, he can make out a figure at the door cast in shadow by the ship’s lights. A humanoid figure, cradling a pretty big bundle of something in their arms.

 

It’s a posture Doc knows pretty well.

 

He leaves the blaster on the desk.

 

A wave of snow and piercing cold rushes through the doors as he keys in the code for release. A human woman stumbles in after, brown hair blowing in the wind, trembling from head to toe and clutching a creature in obvious respiratory distress tight to her chest. She isn’t dressed for the weather, wearing only a light, beat-up jacket and some fingerless gloves, but she’s taken better care of the patient. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped tight in layers of thick, protective blankets.

 

“Please tell me you aren’t a fucking janitor,” she says.

 

Doc would laugh if the creature in her arms wasn’t actively choking on its own throat. “With hands like these?” He displays them--they are excellent hands--in a gesture something like supplication before reaching for the patient. He hasn’t failed to notice the blasters on her hips, and he knows better than to startle someone upset and well-armed. “Who do we have here?”

 

“Pooper,” the woman says, completely straight-faced. “I don’t know what happened. I mean, he’s always had trouble breathing when he gets excited, but this time--I don’t know. It’s different. He isn’t calming down and it’s getting worse and I--Can you help?”

 

She lets him take the hyperventilating bundle from her arms, and when he peels back the blankets he finds the four red eyes of a barbed ginx blinking back at him.

 

Huh.

 

“We don’t see many fellas like you in these parts,” Doc hums, holding Pooper more firmly as he starts to wriggle in the stranger’s hands. 

 

“I picked him up on Makeb,” the woman explains, reaching out to stroke the ginx’s forehead. It changes the tone of his choking, like he’s trying to respond with some particular kind of noise. “Found him sleeping in my cargo bay. I must’ve put him out five or six times but he always found a way back on board, so I let him join the crew.”

 

“Hard to say no to a face like that,” Doc says. “Let’s go in the back and find something to calm him down.”

 

“You can help?”

 

“Never met a living thing I couldn’t. You have the very good fortune of dropping your ship on top of the best vet in the galaxy, Beautiful.”

 

After a beat of skeptical silence, she huffs. “Well the last two laughed me out of their offices, so I don’t have much of a choice. But you aren’t going to like what happens if you’re as full of hot air as you sound.”

 

“I promise my ego is very well-founded,” Doc says, grinning despite himself. 

 

# # #

 

The problem, it turns out, is actually several problems. Congenital gland failure forces Pooper to rely on his underdeveloped amphibian lungs since his skin is too dry to keep his blood oxygenated. The strain on his trachea is creating lesions and inflammation that closes the airway to his lungs, so he isn’t getting enough oxygen there either. Plus he seems to have pretty severe anxiety. And he’s fat.

 

Very, very fat.

 

“It’s my brother’s fault,” the woman—Rea—is explaining, draped over the metal stool on the other side of the exam table. “Rhese gives him crickets just for existing. Poops just looks up at him with those big red eyes and he folds like a wet tissue. It’s embarrassing, really.”

 

Doc indulges himself in a nice, long look at her while her attention is on her extremely sedated pet. She’s a very distracting presence back here, looking the way she does in those tight pants and that thin, clingy tank top, her jacket long abandoned on the floor.

 

It’s not a distraction he minds.

 

“So it’s just you and your brother on your ship, then?” Doc asks, oh-so-innocently. “No one else I ought to know about? Spouses? Romantic partners?”

 

Rea snorts, but there’s a smile on her lips and a spark of curiosity in those sharp blue eyes. “Very subtle,” she says.

 

“Subtle isn’t really my style.”

 

“Mine either.”

 

“So that’s a no to the committed, monogamous relationship?”

 

“I’m allergic,” she says, and Doc can feel a tiny sliver of his heart plummeting fast and hard into love.

 

“We have so much in common.”

 

Rea laughs, leaning her head against her hand, elbow propped against the back of the stool. She’s looking at him with a strange sort of intensity that leaves him tingling everywhere. “So talk to me about this shrine,” she says, and gestures to his tech’s station in the corner, surrounded by posters and scale models of swoop bikes. Mostly just the one swoop bike.

 

“It’s my tech’s,” Doc explains. “Some swoop jockey he’s obsessed with.”

 

“You not a fan?”

 

“I’ve been to a few races, but I’m more of a gambler than a gearhead.”

 

She nods. “Wouldn’t want to ruin those pretty hands.”

 

“Need ‘em for work.” And with a wink, Doc adds, “Need ‘em for play, too.”

 

Rea laughs, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the color rising in her face as she shakes her head. “You fix my ginx, and maybe we find out if they’re as good as you say.”

 

“Your skepticism is starting to hurt my feelings, Gorgeous.”

 

# # #

 

Pooper is happy to return to his perch in the corner of Rea’s quarters, croaking approval as he settles his considerable mass onto a wide log under a heat lamp. He’s breathing easy now, his skin slick with artificial mucus that doesn’t stop his companion from dropping a kiss to his broad forehead.

 

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and hooks a finger into the lapel of Doc’s jacket, leading him back out to the lounge. The gentle wheeze of Pooper’s snores follows them down the corridor.

 

A weird pet, but Doc likes him.

 

“So let’s talk payment,” Rea says, whipping out two glasses and a bottle of midtier Corellian whiskey. “You want a mixer?”

 

Doc shakes his head, clinking the glass she hands him with hers before taking a generous sip. Something about the blizzard outside makes the heat of it all the more welcome in his belly.

 

Rea tosses the whole thing back in one swallow.

 

“Here’s the thing,” she goes on, pouring herself another two fingers. “I don’t actually have any credits. But I’m not gonna leave you with nothing, so don’t worry about that. A Corellian always pays her debts, y’know? I’m sure we can work something else out.”

 

Honestly, he forgot about the money. It isn’t usually his responsibility. Doc shifts uncomfortably, swirling the liquor in his glass as he tries to think how to put this. “If you’re suggesting sex--”

 

“Sex? What?” Rea shakes her head emphatically. “No way. I mean, I’d definitely like to fuck you, but not as payment. Just for fun.” 

 

Doc visibly sags in relief. “Oh, thank the stars. I mean, yes to the fucking for fun part. But you really don’t need to pay me. We can just call it a favor to my favorite ginx if you want.”

 

“Hold onto that charity until you see what I’m offering,” Rea says, smirking. She downs the rest of her whiskey and strips out of her jacket, leaving her in that thin tank top that clings to every plane and slope of her sculpted figure. He doesn’t try to hide his captivation. “Follow me.”

 

Like he could do anything else.

 

He trails after her into the ship’s cargo bay, fixated on what has to be the most exquisite ass he’s ever seen. His fingers itch to dig into it, to feel the shifting of all that muscle for himself.

 

She stops in front of a speeder--No, a swoop bike. A very familiar swoop bike. 

 

“No way,” he breathes.

 

Rea leans back against the bike, looking unbearably smug as she props her hands against the chassis. “I thought you might recognize it.”

 

He’s only seen it a billion times, at a billion different angles, immortalized in the revolving collection of holos and figurines covering Terek’s station. He’s seen it enough that even he can recognize the sleek lines and unique thruster configuration hovering before him. “When you said your name is Rea,” he says, still gaping a little in bewilderment, “is that short for Nirea Velaran?”

 

Her smile only widens, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

 

“Whaddya think?” She says, patting the hood. “Will this hunk of junk be a fair exchange?”

 

“Fair? I don’t know much about swoop racing, Gorgeous, but that bike is worth a million creds, easy.” Doc glances around the cargo bay, quickly realizing there are a dozen other bikes and a few speeders crammed into the small space. “They probably all are, just cause they’re yours.”

 

She shrugs. “Well I don’t know much about biology, but I’m pretty sure Pooper would’ve died without your help. His life is worth every credit and more. So just take it, will you? Give it to your tech or something.”

 

Terek might literally kill him if he refuses.

 

“I don’t even fly this thing anymore, Doc. It’s just gathering dust in here.” When he still doesn’t agree, Rea adds, “The sooner you say yes, the sooner we’re done with business. And once the business is done, we can start having fun.”

 

Doc laughs then, nodding. “You drive a hard bargain, Beautiful.”

 

# # #

 

They watch the sun rise from the cockpit, their bodies glistening like the snow in the wash of soft, golden light. Rea is collapsed against him, boneless and sighing, her head tipped back against his chest and her body still slick against his thigh. He suspects she isn’t quite as thoroughly spent as he is, but she must be satisfied enough since she isn’t asking for more.

 

Doc has learned a number of things about infamous swoop jockey Nirea Velaran tonight, namely that she isn’t shy about asking for what she wants.

 

It’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

 

The silence is comfortable as they bask in the afterglow, hands still lightly caressing, coming down from the last of many highs. It’s the undemanding kind of quiet that grows out of people who understand each other, even if they don’t know one another that well yet.

 

Finally, Rea yawns. “You want a lift home?”

 

“I don’t think my neighbors will appreciate a freighter in the street,” he says, toying with the ends of her short, tousled hair.

 

“I could grapple you down.”

 

He would laugh, but Doc has learned enough in the last few hours to know she isn’t joking. Rea is both very athletic and exceedingly eccentric with her solutions to commonplace problems.

 

“I’ll be fine. I met this fascinating woman today who traded me a swoop bike for taking care of her ginx.”

 

“She sounds great,” Rea says, and he hears the smile in her tired, syrupy voice. “But I’m not letting you take a swoop out in this snow. It fucks the repulsors all to hell. You’ll end up nosediving into a drift, and then who will I call when Pooper needs help?”

 

He doesn’t mention how she told him earlier they probably wouldn’t cross paths again. He just laughs, sneaks a kiss to her temple and shifts her off of his lap. “Fine,” he says. “Any idea where I left my pants?”

  
  


# # #

  
  


Doc holds tight to Rea’s waist as she lowers them onto his roof. More than one of his neighbors are standing on their stoops, staring dumbfounded at the ship and the woman dropping out of it, wrapped only in a heavy blanket and a very tired veterinarian. The snow swirls around them in a storm, shimmering like diamonds in the morning light.

 

She must be freezing, but he can’t see any sign of it on her face.

 

“Thanks again,” she shouts as their feet touch the heated roof, straining to be heard over the rumbling of her ship’s engine. “I really don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

 

“It was my pleasure,” he shouts back.

 

“Don’t I know it!” 

 

Rea pulls him in for one last, searing kiss before she shoves him away, both of them laughing like idiots. Like senseless fucking teenagers who don’t know anything else. “You can get down from here, right?”

 

Doc just nods, too breathless for more shouting.

 

The light flashes on her grappling gun as it changes directions, lifting her slowly back toward the warmth of her waiting ship. He can see that Pooper is waiting at the top of the ramp, watching her eagerly with his big red eyes, his skin slick and shining like it’s meant to be.

 

Finally, after watching just a little too long, Doc turns and lowers himself to the edge of his roof. He’s about to make the jump into the snowdrifts below when she calls out.

 

“Hey Doc!” 

 

He pauses, craning his neck back to look at her, almost within arm’s reach of her ship now. 

 

“If you’re ever on Corellia,” she shout, “look me up!”

 

Then, she lets loose the blanket wrapped around her body. It catches in the wind kicked up by the engines, whipping and swirling its way to getting stuck in his neighbor’s hedge. Doc hardly notices where it lands. His eyes are fixed on the tight, sculpted body of the woman he’s just realized he’s never going to forget.

 

He whistles loudly in appreciation, watching the laughter he can’t hear dancing across her face. Then she’s grasping onto the lowered boarding ramp, vaulting herself to her feet in one smooth, exquisite motion. 

 

Rea walks backward as she disappears into her ship, blowing him a kiss and giving him a little shimmy to remember her by. He doesn’t move from the spot until she’s long gone, nothing more than a dark speck streaking through the sky.

 

Doc doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know how, but he knows with every bone in his body that he has to see her again.

 

And her little ginx too.

  
  
  



End file.
